Glimpse
by ejectingthecore
Summary: Nyota gets a fleeting look at another Enterprise. Very short one-shot, complete. S/U.


For a prompt fill on the livejournal community where_no_woman. Story Dice #4 Evil Twin.

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She is immersed in sound and, disoriented, thinks briefly of a cloud of mist-bees on Apollonaire. The transporter stings her ears and its tingling pulses through her body. But it does not stop like it should, depositing her in the safe and solid world of the Enterprise. No. They can't get her out. She knows, it was the ion storm, and that they should not have tried.

And then she's thrown—a physical and mental slam—and the universe shows her her own face.

Clear, dark skin, yes, her own lips, her sharp chin held high. Upswept and curious eyes, these a little devious, a little imperious. More eye makeup than she ought to wear. And slanted brows. They angle steeply up and away from the bridge of her nose. Nyota's gaze is drawn by a silver curl against her cheek, a piece of jewelry that begins there and snakes it way to her ear, where it twines with a stud fixed in the cartilage. A lovely ear, rich brown, adorned with an array of green sparkling gems and silver rings that diminish in size as they climb until a final, tiny stone marks the pointed tip.

She reconsiders what the universe has done. It doesn't entirely show her her own face. And in fact, the phrase "the universe" now seems entirely insufficient, her expectations too narrow, her frame of reference woeful and aflame.

The woman—the other Nyota—cocks her head and asks, "Who are you? And what are you doing on my ship?"

She falls back on formality, training. "Lieutenant Nyota Uhura of the United Starship Enterprise."

The other her smirks, pauses, begins to circle her on the transporter pad as if inspecting her.

"United."

She spits the word out, as though it's poison.

Nyota ventures her own question. But it comes out a demand, and she's surprised by the pressure and tang of bitterness in the one word she speaks.

"You."

The woman seems impressed, and answers her fully. "Captain T'El'es of the Imperial Starship Enterprise."

Nyota is strong enough, trained hard and well enough, to not gasp. But she is mesmerized by this vision of herself. Tall, cool and commanding in black leather boots that climb to her thighs, dripping with weapons, knives slid into sheaths, one on the outside of each boot, a phaser at her waist, and the gem-encrusted handle of something else, unknowable, peeking from her cleavage, where her scant uniform plunges low and gold and glowing against her skin. It travels down to criss-cross her sculpted abs, then join an impossibly short gold skirt tied with a sash. A hyperbow and arrows are slung across her back. She bristles with brilliant, mean energy, and Nyota is amazed. She is resplendent. Vulcan. Captain.

"And this is my first mate."

Nyota can't tell which of a hundred subtexts she should choose. She only knows that this Captain—she!—has held the words _first _and _mate _in her mouth as though of equal weight, both heavy. She has savored them. Amused herself with each one.

Nyota is too stunned to wonder any further, when from behind T'El'es walks Spock.

His eyes are the same. Deeply brown and sultry, like her own Spock's eyes.

Where T'El'es is bare and brilliant, Spock is contained in clothing even more restrictive and reserved than on her Enterprise. A high collared ice blue jacket makes his sculpted features even more breathtaking, a sash like the Captain's resting on his slim hips. His weapons are less numerous, simply deadly, two phasers, a knife at his waist. Her eyes are drawn to his dark beard, trimmed as neatly as Vulcan bangs and yet somehow lawless and wicked. His skin is smooth and clean and inhumanly pearlescent, his lips full like fruit she wants to burst with her teeth, and despite her perilous situation, something fundamental in Nyota is drawn to him, deeply, sexually, emotionally. His voice is melted sin. In this universe, it does all the same things to her.

"You are not Vulcan."

While she is still reeling in shock and a dawning dread, part of her feels safe with him near.

"I'm African," she says. "Human."

She can feel his desire to reach for her face, to taste her with his fingers. She senses words from his mind. Fascination. _A Human T'El'es_. But he does not touch. He moves to his Captain's side, and Nyota's illusion of safety vanishes. She can see that Spock fits there, within her, that he spends his days and nights in that space beside his Captain, their bodies and minds entwined and one and together. He is hers. And T'El'es draws him into her, wordlessly, almost imperceptibly. She'd kill Nyota in a second to protect him, or to protect what she has with him.

Nyota wonders what is next.

She sees these two together, pure, gorgeous, perverse. They are clearly warriors, she knows not why, knows nothing else of this moment in space and time but what she is shown in their faces, bodies, voices. She sees the Captain's strength, her powerful intelligence, her beauty. She's sees her own love for Spock, reflected and distorted, her deep connection with him alive and sparking even here, wherever she may be, and she knows that while he must feel the same spark trying to jump the gap between them, he stands completely, forever by T'El'es. Their bond is complete.

She sees the worst, too. She sees jealousy and doubt, both immediate, roiling in her own body, and under the surface of her double's calm face. Like something moving, impossibly, under the surface of molten lava. She sees her own impatience, fear. T'El'es is cold. There's a bittersweetness Nyota can't explain, but that she knows without a doubt is in her. She sees what she's capable of. And what she is not.

T'El'es reaches a finger to touch Nyota's face, tracing a swirl on her cheek that mirrors the shape and placement of the Captain's own silver adornment. Nyota feels her skin upon skin, curiosity, recognition. And she feels something warm, like a thousand, perhaps a million, tiny insects wrapping her in a buzzing, living blanket. She watches their faces fade, hears a well-known whirring, a mechanical whine, and with a jolt she's delivered into the transporter room of the Enterprise. She raises her eyes to see Scotty, sweaty and relieved, his headset thrown back at an awkward angle and his clothes rumpled, smiling for her.

* * *

END


End file.
